


Always. Forever.

by edenforest



Series: I feel you in my dreams [10]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, KGB, Making Out, gallya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenforest/pseuds/edenforest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaby’s name on his skin in Moscow was part of her with him. They were only lines in black ink and still part of her. Illya felt like she transferred a fraction of her soul to him with the letters as a loan. He always returned it, with interest, when he returned. Usually in the bedroom, proving how much he had missed her. Sometimes when he was away so long that the letters rubbed completely off, it was like a sign to go back to her. Gaby’s brand kept him grounded as long as it was there and when it was gone it made him restless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always. Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 10/11

It started as a joke. The night Gaby broke into his apartment and proved that she could stab him in the middle of the night if she wanted to. Then she had branded him. Wrote her name in big letters across his chest. It had lasted a few days and finally rubbed off. Her brand.

Gaby had said that his Russian ass belonged now to her and hadn’t yet realized how right she was. Because he was Gaby’s. Everything of him was hers, she owned every part, even if she didn’t know it yet. Illya wasn’t sure how long he had been hers. He doubted it had started that night. Maybe he had always belonged to her.

When they had finally ended up in bed and together, Gaby had made it her business to brand him from time to time as a joke. Illya let her do it because it made her happy. It was only ink; it would rub off. And in a few days’ time Gaby’s name was written on his skin. And Illya liked it. He was also sure that she was always little bit more intense in bed when she had branded him and he made love to her with her name across his chest. So he let Gaby brand him when she wanted to.

Mostly she wanted to do it before he left for Moscow. The brand was a little joke but he was sure it was something else. Gaby never said it, but Illya felt like she branded him to remind him who he belonged to even behind the Iron Curtain. She reminded that he had people who cared for him and he wasn’t alone. Because somewhere there was somebody whose name he carried underneath his clothes, over his heart. And he shouldn’t forget about that. Illya didn’t need to be reminded. He remembered he was Gaby’s, over everything else. Even over Russia. And he didn’t apologize for that.

Gaby’s name on his skin in Moscow was part of her with him. They were only lines in black ink and still part of her. Illya felt like she transferred a fraction of her soul to him with the letters as a loan. He always returned it, with interest, when he returned. Usually in the bedroom, proving how much he had missed her. Sometimes when he was away so long that the letters rubbed completely off, it was like a sign to go back to her. Gaby’s brand kept him grounded as long as it was there and when it was gone it made him restless. He felt he had been away too long, started to lose the human inside of him. Returning to Gaby after the whole brand had worn off was always little sweeter. Her skin felt softer in those times, her scent more powerful, kisses warmer, whole Gaby like heaven.

Illya got used to his brand and stopped thinking about it. It was there only for him to know, because he didn’t need to take his clothes off at work.

 

***

 

Illya hated docks. The smell, the dirt, all worth hating. And tackled into one made him angry.

He threw his cap on the chair and yanked the jacket off. His gun and holster he set on the desk and his wet clothes he stripped off and threw, frustrated, on the floor. There wasn’t a shower and he only rubbed his skin with a damp towel. He pulled dry slacks on and ruffled his hair with the towel. He glanced over his shoulder when the door opened. Oleg walked in and Illya combed his hair with his fingers.

“He started talking,” Oleg informed him.

“Good,” Illya muttered. He was happy he didn’t have to go there to make him talk. He threw the towel on a chair and reached for a dry shirt.

“What is that?” Oleg grunted and pointed at Illya’s chest.

Illya stopped what he was doing. He had forgotten. He had got used to it. He didn’t need to look down to know what Oleg was talking about. He could pretend to be stupid and act like he didn’t know what he was referring to, but that was pointless. Gaby’s name was written in big letters across his chest; it would be ridiculous to pretend that he didn’t know it was there.

“Name,” Illya said very shortly.

“I can see that,” Oleg said, displeased. “Gaby Teller. The scientist’s daughter from East Berlin. An agent. You are working with her, right?”

“Yes,” Illya said.

“Not very professional,” Oleg pointed out dryly.

“It’s only a name,” Illya lied. “Nothing more.”

Oleg went to the door. “Someone bring cotton wool and rubbing alcohol,” he ordered. He walked back to Illya. “Take it off,” he huffed. “And let this be the last time you come here with a foreign agent’s name on your skin.”

“Yes,” Illya said. Somebody he didn’t know brought cotton wool and rubbing alcohol to him. Illya went to the bathroom and set those in the edge of the sink. He looked at his chest at the mirror. Gaby’s name was there; he could see the mirror image. It was as wide as his chest. He lifted his hand and touched the letters.

He knew it was only a silly joke, so he reached for the cotton wool. He dampened it with the alcohol and pressed it to his skin. It was cold and took away a little part of Gaby’s brand. Illya frowned but continued. It was only ink. Only a name on his skin. It wasn’t some magical part of Gaby’s soul that was keeping him safe. So Illya wiped it away. He wiped the letters she had drawn, her brand, right down to the last black smudge. When his chest was bare again he dropped the blackened cotton wool in the sink. He didn’t look so different. That was how he usually looked. But now it somehow bothered him. Suddenly the whole business made him angry. It’s not like anybody’s name on his chest made any difference to anybody else except to him. It was KGB’s way of showing its power. They would wipe Gaby off his skin like she was worthless. Illya had gotten used being treated like he was worthless nowadays to them. But Gaby wasn’t.

He replaced the cap on the rubbing alcohol bottle and took a deep breath. He wasn’t magically weaker without her brand, he reminded himself. He left the blackened cotton wool balls in the sink and returned to the room.

Oleg glance him and nodded. “Better,” he said. “Don’t let her draw on you again. It shouldn’t be that hard. She was small, I remember. Just don’t take your shirt off when she is around. Don’t be stupid.”

Illya nodded. The little gesture of a lie didn’t even bother him. He was going to continue to take his shirt off around her. And his trousers. And help her to take her clothes off.

He pulled the dry shirt on and business continued as usual. Except inside of him Illya knew that he was in Moscow without her brand and it bothered him. He was alone and Gaby wasn’t with him anymore. He didn’t even know why he thought like that; it was only ink on his chest.

The next afternoon Illya found himself idle. He made a decision about his future. He was always going to be Gaby’s if it was up to him. So the decision was easy. It didn’t hurt or sting. It was already part of him even if it didn’t show yet. Now it did. And it felt right. It felt like it was supposed to be there. Gaby’s brand, like she had wanted to.

 

***

 

Gaby picked him up at the airport. She waved at him and he sort of waved back and made Gaby smile. Illya knew it was his unfinished wave and it didn’t bother him. If Gaby wanted to smile, she could smile.

“How was your flight?” Gaby asked like always.

They were standing very close to each other, but not touching. Maybe in some other life Illya would’ve been somebody who would grab his girlfriend into a hug at the airport. But in this life he had gotten used to being private. And he knew Gaby preferred that. She yanked him along by his hand, but let go after they started walking. They were still walking so close that their hands brushed against one another.

“Well,” Illya assured.

“How were things in Moscow?” Gaby asked. She grinned and teased: “As usual?”

Illya couldn’t help his smile. “Pretty much,” he said.

The sun was already set and they walked across the dark parking lot between the cars. Gaby opened the trunk for his bag and when she closed it Illya pulled her against him and lifted her off the ground. Gaby smiled delightedly, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Her mouth was warm against his. He concentrated on Gaby and temporarily didn’t care if somebody would see them in the dark. There was only Gaby and he had missed her. When their lips pulled apart he sighed out a breath.

“Did you miss me?” Gaby asked with a happy smile on her lips.

“Yes,” Illya muttered and kept her still off the ground.

Gaby hummed and gave him a quick peck on his lips and another one on his nose. “Are we going to go or are we staying here to kiss?”

Illya loosened his grip and Gaby slid to the ground.

They were barely controlling themselves. Gaby drove the car to her apartment. She didn’t even ask where Illya wanted to go. She didn’t give him options. She wanted him at her place. She needed to press him against the bed. Her head was full of things she wanted to do to him and things she wanted Illya to do to her. They entered the apartment kissing, bumped on the doorframe, pushed the jackets off each other’s shoulders, kicked their shoes off. They collided with the couch so that it moved and rumpled the rug underneath. They slowly went around it and Gaby nudged Illya into an armchair.

She straddled him and was out of breath from all the kisses. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders, behind his head, on his neck and tangled in his hair, all the time pulling him closer. Her mouth was hot and intense, her tongue so slippery. Her teeth bit gently his lower lip, then the corner of his mouth, then his neck. Illya swallowed when Gaby kissed his neck and her hands moved under his shirt.

Gaby made his heart race like no other thing. Sometimes he wondered how something could even feel this good. Her hands and lips on his skin. Playful touches. How she gave herself to him so effortlessly, not only let him take what he wanted but gave so much without Illya ever needing to ask. Pressed him against the bed and took his clothes off. Illya wasn’t sure was he ever going to stop being amazed how easy Gaby made wanting him feel. There was no hesitation, no doubts. Her touch was always sure that it wanted to touch.

And it worked the other way around too. When he touched Gaby she never pushed him away. There was never even the smallest sign that she didn’t enjoy. Quite the opposite, she always seemed to like it. His touch. His kisses. He inside of her. Gaby’s back arched and her lips couldn’t hold the moans in. She wanted harder and deeper and again. Always again. None of the times had been last. There was always a new time when she was in his arms, kissing his neck like now and whispering into his ear like now.

“Ich habe dich vermisst,” Gaby muttered and nibbled his earlobe. “So many lonely nights. Aching for you. And you weren’t here.”

“I will make up those for you,” Illya promised and turned to face Gaby. He lost her kisses on his neck but he could see her face. “Every one of them.”

Gaby smiled. “Good. You should start if you ever want to finish,” she said. “So much aching.”

The corners of Illya’s mouth twitched. “I sure you could manage that kind of ache by yourself,” he suspected.

“Of course,” Gaby said and lifted her chin a little. She rubbed herself on Illya’s lap. “And I thought of you. But it’s not the same. I wanted you to be here for real. I wanted to feel your touching me. It’s not the same to touch yourself. Even if it’s still nice.”

“How nice?” Illya wanted to know and leaned to kiss her.

“Do you want me to tell you?” Gaby whispered against his lips, then leaned away and lifted her brows. “Or do you want me to show you?”

Illya almost growled when he pulled Gaby close and slid his hand under her shirt and yanked it impatiently off her and then pulled his own shirt over his head, messing his hair. Gaby nestled against his chest, tucked her arms under his and set her palms on his shoulder blades, fingers open like a starfish. Illya’s skin was cool. Gaby felt that it was always little cool when he returned from Moscow. But she warmed him up.

Gaby kissed him. She missed Illya’s kisses more than anything when he was away. Of course she missed everything, but kisses the most. The soft and sleepy kisses first in the morning and last in the night. The passionate kisses and rubbing tongues when they were alone and there was time, when hands slid against skin and breathing turned to panting. Like now. She missed those slow and exploring kisses between ordinary things; making dinner, packing for missions. She missed his lips against her lips, mouth against mouth, tongue against tongue. Illya’s kisses made her heart always race and knees weak. They made her want like she had never wanted.

Illya slid slowly the bra straps off her shoulders and pressed soft kisses all over her shoulders. Gaby smiled contentedly and let him be as gentle as he liked. Gaby could only rarely anticipate what Illya was going to do. It was always a surprise and she liked it. Everything had started fast and intense and now it was slow and teasing. Gaby enjoyed that unpredictability. His lips kissed her neck hungrily and made Gaby close her eyes. Illya’s hand moved down on the small of her back and pulled her closer. Her hand slid from his shoulders to his chest, she opened her eyes to see her hand touching him.

A little crease appeared between her brows when she noticed some markings on his chest. Neat letters, like they were printed on there, a few centimeters high. Upside down L and T. Her fingertips slid over those. They were on the left, almost over his heart. Cyrillic letters, Gaby gathered. T was T, upside down L was G.

Illya sucked her neck gently. Gaby sighed. Her eyes pressed close and her head bent back. Illya’s hand cupped on her breast and it was hard to concentrate to anything.

G and T.

Gaby opened her eyes determinedly, set her palms on Illya’s chest and pushed him away until his back hit the chair’s back. He gasped, surprised, and wondered at Gaby’s frown.

“What is that?” Gaby asked tightly.

“What?” Illya asked.

Gaby tilted her head and looked displeased. “You know what I’m talking about,” she informed him. “There’s letters on your chest. My letters. GT.”

“It is your brand,” Illya answered. “It has been there awhile.”

“It that a tattoo?” Gaby asked, still frowning, her fingers touching the letters again.

“Are you going to get mad if it is?” Illya wanted to know.

“Is it?” Gaby insisted.

“Maybe,” Illya muttered.

Gaby swallowed and stared at Illya’s chest and her own fingers touching the black letters. That wasn’t a joke anymore. It wasn’t some silly brand that she liked to draw on him when he went to Moscow. That wouldn’t fade away. It’s not like things between them had ever been casual; deep down it had always been serious. There had always been real feelings and Illya had never been some little fling to her. And she had thought that Illya felt the same way about her. But now his feeling felt bigger than she had anticipated. Her initials would be in his skin forever. As long as there would be Illya, her name would be with him. He had voluntarily branded himself to belong to her. Illya was now hers. Always. Her Illya.

“You tattooed my initials on your chest,” Gaby said unsure what she felt. She couldn’t believe he had done that.

“Well, yes,” Illya admitted. “I needed to take my shirt off. And you can imagine how my superiors felt when they saw your name on my chest,” he told and Gaby glanced him under her brows and looked guilty. “I had to take it off. And it bothered me,” he continued.

“So you decided to tattoo it on?” Gaby demanded.

“Yes,” Illya said and shrugged his shoulders.

Gaby frowned again. “You can’t just shrug like this would be some little thing,” she said tightly. “You tattooed my name on you. That’s not a little thing,” she insisted, almost agitated. She had to take a deep breath so that she wouldn’t get mad. She was sure that this was something she was supposed to be moved by, not annoyed by. And still she was annoyed, almost mad. “Is that safe? It’s my name on your chest.”

“Initials,” Illya pointed out. “That could mean anything.  And I will keep you safe,” Illya declared like he didn’t see any problems there.

“I think this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. It’s there forever. Now you have to be with me forever. No one else is going to be with you.  No women would be okay looking at some other woman’s initials on your chest. I wouldn’t be. Did you think this through? Or at all?” She shook her head at him.

“Do you think that I have any intention to be with anybody else?” Illya asked and now he too was frowning.

“Maybe you don’t have a choice,” Gaby pointed out. “What if I leave you?”

“Then I would be crushed,” Illya said callously. “And it would crush me little more every time I would see your name in the mirror. Do you want to do that to me?”

Gaby leaned away from Illya and her brows rose high. “Are you guilting me to being with you?” she sighed.

“If it’s necessary,” Illya said.

“You’re crazy,” Gaby announced, but the corners of her mouth were already starting to curl up.

Illya huffed and looked away, seemingly bored. “Well, that is your problem. Maybe you should think before branding somebody crazy,” he muttered.

Gaby couldn’t hold the chuckle that came out of her but went serious after that. Illya glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. Carefully he turned to face her. Gaby’s fingers touched her initials again. She slid her fingers over those and glanced at Illya. It was the first time Illya was the one truly in charge of the situation. He knew what he was doing, was strong and brave, didn’t hesitate. And Gaby was the one who was unsure. Illya wrapped his arms around her waist and gently pulled her close.

Gaby had to sigh to the look he had on his face. For somebody who didn’t like to talk about his life and feelings and who didn’t know how to be with people, Illya was sometimes so emotionally open that Gaby didn’t know how to deal with it. He carried his heart on his sleeve and just opened himself without hesitation and looked so sure and determined.

“Now your Russian ass truly belongs to me,” Gaby said quietly. “Always. Forever,” she added. “Now everybody in Valhalla too will know who you belong to.”

“Good,” Illya said, shrugged his shoulders again. He was well aware who he wanted to belong to and how long he intended to continue that.

“What am I supposed to do with a crazy Russian?” Gaby asked and tilted her head.

“Take him to the bedroom,” Illya suggested. “I understood that you were going to show him something.”

Gaby grinned and let Illya pull her back against him. She returned her kisses on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to MollokoPlus


End file.
